The End of Time
by Faris-Eirin
Summary: Hermione tries to make up lost minutes with her Time-Turner, but something goes dreadfully wrong... Yes, it is supposed to look like a Time-Turner-cliché-story, but..... read yourself!


_Disclaimer:  Nope, nothing is mine (except Selena)… the Harry Potter-universe belongs completely to J.K. Rowling and all the others she decided to share with (not me, though). I'm not making any money with it, so please don't sue me._

And once more I offer my uttermost thanks to Arwena and Autumnmist for beta-ing this story. I am sure it hasn't been an easy task, but they have done a wonderful work again. *hug*

--- Sit down, lean back and join me on a little journey through time… Everything has to fade away one day, but every ending also bears a new beginning… usually, that is. ---

**-~*~- ****The End Of Time ****-~*~-   **(by Faris-Eirin@gmx.ch)

***

_"When will she come?"  
"Soon."  
"How soon?"  
"In time."  
"And may I see her?"  
"Maybe. If you can keep silent."_

***

The sound of fast footsteps echoed through the corridors of Hogwarts – the sound of somebody who had forgotten the time again and had to hurry to the next lesson, which was due to begin in a few minutes. Judging from the sound of these steps, the person was well aware of this fact and knew exactly what it would mean to cross the doorstep into Snape's classroom even a second too late.

"Damn!" Hermione swore breathlessly with another glance at her watch. Only one minute left – she would never make it in time. She had only covered half of the distance to the dungeons which meant that even if she managed to keep up her pace, she would still miss at least the first two minutes of the lesson.

"Two minutes..." she panted and rushed on. How could she ever have taken her eyes off her Potions essay after lunch in the Great Hall? Although had it been merely for a few seconds? Hermione had not noticed Draco standing behind her, waiting until her attention was focused onto the small diversion he had arranged.

A quick hex was all it took Draco to let two pairs of fast feet get grown out of Hermione's parchment, which immediately sprang to life and carried her essay away, running straight up to the astronomy tower. It did not take Hermione long to notice the disappearance of her parchment, but the little feet were swift and so she did not manage to catch the parchment before she reached the last flight of steps at the top of the tower. Only the knowledge that she had to hand it in during the upcoming Potions lesson kept her going. Precious minutes passed until Hermione was able to figure out a charm to get rid of the feet – she could hardly hand in a fleeing Potions essay onto Snape's desk. 

Completely immersed in thought, she noticed the stairs in front of her too late and stumbled, falling down a few steps and finally landing none too gently on her belly. Her books and other writing utensils scattered all over the floor and again it took Hermione some minutes to pick up everything. Just as she was readying herself for a mad dash to class, she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, something sparkling in the shadows.

Her Time-Turner! She had nearly forgotten it. The chain around her neck on which she usually carried the Time-Turner must have opened without her notice. Carefully she picked up the hourglass and examined it. Apart from a few scratches it seemed to be intact, so she tucked it into her pocket and headed to the dungeons, this time watching her step.

As expected, she was not only late, but to her annoyance Snape had already closed the door to his classroom. Hermione was sure he had done it to humiliate her even more than necessary – not forgetting the deduction of house points from Gryffindor and detention that would inevitably follow.

But then a way out of her misery inserted itself into her mind. The Time-Turner. She could retrieve the lost moments with a simple turn. Actually, she was not allowed to use it in such a way, but given a choice between Snape's sarcasm and a tiny little bit of rule-breaking…. Determined, she looked for a dark corner – of which there were plenty in the dungeons – and gave the small object a turn. 

And then… everything went black.

***

Hermione felt like she was falling endlessly, until she abruptly hit the ground, knocking her forehead on hard stone. She remained lying on the floor with her eyes closed until she was sure that the dizziness was completely gone and her body was more or less intact. "What was _that_?" she wondered stunned.

The cold from the floor gradually found its way through her clothes and Hermione sat up, marvelling at the sudden brightness. Too bright for the dungeons. She slowly opened her eyes, but shut them again immediately as the sun shone onto her face. No. It could not be possible.

Cursing, she eventually got up as a grey, emaciated tabby leapt in front of her. Her heart nearly stopped beating in shock. In seconds she had her wand in her right hand and was pointing at the animal.

Yet something seemed familiar about the cat... and as Hermione finally recognized the pattern of the fur, she whispered with a hushed voice, "Professor McGonagall?"

As if she had spoken the magic word, the cat changed into a tall woman dressed in green tartan. Hermione stared in disbelief at the figure: hair a greyish white, eyes tired-looking and mournful, shaky hands and hollow cheeks. A second look confirmed Hermione's guess – it really was Minerva McGonagall, standing in front of her – and with some difficulty she tried not to gape too obviously at the Professor.  

"Professor! What happened?" Hermione asked, not believing her eyes.

But instead of getting an answer to her question, she only heard a relieved sounding whisper, "Herm… Miss Granger!" before McGonagall pressed a finger to her mouth and waved for Hermione to follow her. McGonagall turned around hastily and rushed up the few intact steps before she noticed that Hermione had not moved yet.

It took a moment for Hermione to become fully aware of her surroundings. She stood with her back to a crumbled wall, stone blocks of various sizes lying scattered on the floor around her. The remainders of what seemed to be walls were too high to see past, so the only free view was the blue, endless sky.

Glancing nervously from one side to the other, McGonagall looked back to her with eyes pleading her to follow quietly.  Hermione was petrified. Where the hell was she? What had happened? The Time-Turner had obviously been more damaged by her fall than she thought it to be….

"Where am I?" Hermione whispered with growing panic in her voice. McGonagall hesitated a moment and then hissed, "Not here… later!"

This time, Hermione followed McGonagall, stumbling through the labyrinth of destroyed walls and loose stones, although she still did not know where she was, but on alert because of her teacher's strange behavior. Leaving the ruins behind them and walking on dead grass, Hermione stopped again and looked back. There was something familiar among the scenery, but she could not pinpoint it exactly though her heart beat a little bit faster as her gaze wandered over the ruins.

McGonagall noticed Hermione's stop a moment later and returned to her. Following Hermione's eyes around their surroundings, she whispered softly, "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"WHAT?" screamed Hermione, horrified. How could it be possible? McGonagall must be joking. She knew about a few incidents with Time-Turners, sending people years back in time instead of hours, but this could not be the case here – McGonagall looked older, not younger. Much older… But a Time-Turner only worked in _one_ direction of time, not both. Was she in a parallel universe? Hermione felt an unpleasant pressure building up in her chest, but decided that it was the wrong time to panic. She took a few deep breaths and silently counted up to ten.

"Come, we will explain everything to you... But not here, it is too dangerous," McGonagall replied and took up her stride again. Hermione remained a few moments longer and slowly began to see familiar parts of the place. The memory of Hogwarts was still vividly in her mind, and Hermione swallowed audibly. Of the once proud and seemingly indestructible school, there was not much more left than a pile of stones on a hill, surrounded by brown, withered grass.

As Hermione noticed that McGonagall walking away without waiting for her, she increased her pace to catch up. They were heading directly to the forbidden forest. "But Professor. The forest! It is --" 

"Probably the last safe place in existence around here!" McGonagall interrupted Hermione.

***

As soon as they entered the forest, Hermione noticed a visible change in her professor's demeanor. Her steps slowed, posture became more upright and nervous side-glances lessened, although they didn't stop completely.

Hermione watched fascinated as the trees in front of them moved aside to reveal a path, even though upon looking back, impenetrable bushes blocked the view. Quizzically she glanced at McGonagall, who, with a light nod, let her understand that she no longer needed to remain silent.

Without hesitation Hermione asked the first question in her mind: "Where am I?"

"At Hogwarts..." McGonagall began, well aware that this was not the answer Hermione wanted to hear – impatience flashing in Hermione's brown eyes made that clear.

McGonagall cleared her throat and began: "I'm presumably not the right person to explain it properly, but at least I can make a start…. The Time-Turner you used was more damaged by your fall than you thought it to be."

Hermione stared at her open mouthed. How did her head of house know about her fall? And that she had used the Time-Turner? Her confusion must have been reflected quite clearly on her face, for McGonagall smiled reassuringly and continued: "As I've said, you are at Hogwarts or at least what is left of it… Maybe the words 'welcome to the future' would have been more appropriate."

Deep inside Hermione already had imagined something like that - and had pushed the thought away immediately, not wanting it to be true – but hearing somebody say it aloud was almost too much to bear and she gasped for breath. She must be dreaming.

A glance at McGonagall told her that the professor was lost in her own thoughts, and Hermione was glad for the time to sort out the tumult in her head – although with little success. She could not stop the train of thoughts rushing through her mind, so she waited until her head of house continued her explanations.

In silence they followed the path through the forest, and just as Hermione got herself passably under control and wanted to speak up, McGonagall said, "We are here." 

A strange scene unfolded in front of her. The trees were scattered around in small bunches, and wherever there was enough space, small houses made out of wood and clay stood – some of them on the ground, others in the trees. Few people were around, but those, which she could see, were completely unknown to her. Not a single familiar face. An eager boy aged twelve or thirteen approached them, glanced from Hermione to McGonagall and then sighed with relief, "She's here!" before running away to spread the news.

"How long?" Hermione asked, surprised how calm her voice was.

"Twenty years," was McGonagall's hesitant reply as she led her to one of the huts.

She knocked curtly and then opened the door without waiting for a reply from the inside. "She has arrived," McGonagall announced into the hut, moved aside to let Hermione enter and closed the door again, staying outside.

It was a modestly furnished room with only one other door on the opposite wall. A plain fireside adorned the wall to her left, two shabby armchairs and a small table stood in front of it, and the only bookshelf in the entire room contained a lonely few books in bad condition. A slightly larger table, completely covered with parchments and four stools finished off the short list of furniture. Some pictures hung on the walls, but Hermione did not dare to take a closer look. She felt like an intruder in this foreign territory, and the figure, standing with the back turned to her and staring out of the window only reinforced that feeling.

It was unmistakably a man, who seemed not to take any notice of her presence. Tall, thin ('too thin,' Hermione diagnosed) with short, black hair. He wore a robe, which might have once been coloured black and had been mended several times. After staring at his back for a while, Hermione cleared her throat audibly and started to move towards the centre of the room.

He winced hardly noticeably as he heard the sound coming from her and the soft rustling of her feet as she walked over the wooden floor. There was a good reason, actually many reasons, why he had not turned around yet, but Hermione did not - could not - know that. He was wrestling with the conflicting emotions in him and did not want to let his face reveal any of them. Blinking back the tears, he stared outside without looking at anything in particular.

He had known that she would come, like McGonagall and everybody else living in this little forest community, and he also knew what she had seen and heard already – after all she had talked with him about it herself, twenty years ago. He was ready to play his role… unto a certain degree, that is. He had feared and yet also looked forward to this moment. So near, so far and yet near.

He waited a moment longer before turning around and looking straight into her eyes.

"Good morning, Miss Granger."

Hermione looked into the face of a stranger. Apparently. She guessed that he was about sixty or seventy, but from the expression in his eyes, he could easily be twice as old. The eyes were it, in which she recognised a spark of familiarity, and gradually his identity dawned on her. "Professor Snape," she stated with surprise. He only bent his head slightly but remained silent for the moment, seeing various emotions flicker over the face of the young lady.

A strange feeling flooded through her upon the realization of his identity. This was not her teacher standing in front of her, not the Potions Master she knew – not anymore – but a broken man. She could see it in his attitude, his husky voice while saying her name and the worried lines on his face.

Snape finally let out a brief, false laugh. "I do not really believe that title is still appropriate. As you most certainly have noticed by now, Hogwarts accommodates slightly fewer students than a few years ago." No sooner had the words left his mouth when he wished he could have had bitten his tongue off for letting them slip. How could he? He might have had twenty years to prepare himself for this meeting –she had not. But it was so easy to relapse into former patterns and habits, no matter how many years lay between. Again he averted his gaze and stared out of the window once more. 

Hermione felt she should have known better. Twenty years had passed and Snape was still the same bastard he used to be. There were things not even time could change, and the professor in front of her was obviously one of them. Not for all the world she would spend more time than necessary alone in a room with him, but curiosity took hold of her as she asked her next question, for which he had already prepared himself inwardly for: "Where is everyone? Where are Harry, Ron… Professor Dumbledore?"

No answer.

"What about me? What happens, if I meet myself? Isn't that dangerous?" Hermione started again, her logical brain recovering slowly from the first shocks.

Again Snape remained silent, but this time flinching visibly. His strange behaviour did not make any sense to Hermione. What was the matter with him? She had never seen him at a loss for a reply, even if it had only been a deduction of house points. Hesitantly she started to move towards him.

He had known it. Known that she would ask it, but still he had reacted in the same way she had told him he would, and not differently for all the twenty years of planning. 'There goes my _unto a certain degree,_' he thought bitterly. He had wanted to tell her the truth straight to her pretty, innocent face, but he had not had the heart to do it. Did this mean all plans they had made were doomed to failure?

She came closer, and again he had known it. Known it for twenty years. He did not want come into contact with her, did not want to inhale her scent. Vanilla and cinnamon – he knew it all too well. Instinctively he moved away slightly from the window and gave his place to her.

There was no need to reply to her question anymore; the view out of the window was sufficient enough to answer it. Outside, the graveyard of the small forest community was stretched out between yew and birch trees. Hermione slowly turned her head to face him and whispered in a low voice, "When?"

"Fifteen years ago."

"How?"

"Voldemort," was all that he allowed to pass his lips. How could he have told her that not only had Voldemort tortured her to the verge of death, but that the final deathblow had been performed by her future husband? The Hermione with him now was – is - a student in her time, had not even had a boyfriend.  Telling her about her eventual husband would probably shock her more than the knowledge of not being alive anymore in his time. Yes, Hermione and her husband had come to an agreement a long time ago, if worst came to worst, they preferred to welcome death out of the merciful hands of their partner than to suffer unnecessary pain. And that is how she died - in the arms of her husband, her clothes soaked with his tears, but with a certain measure of peace.

Hermione swallowed hard. That one name had given her more answers than she had wanted to know. Looking at Snape who regarded her with piercing, mournful eyes, she wanted to ask about the hows and whys but found she had no words. Voldemort was alive. Powerful. Out there. Somewhere. Now. What had these people gone through? In Snape's eyes she could see the same despair that she had spotted in McGonagall's.

Nearly blinded by tears of shock and anger, Hermione staggered to one of the armchairs and let herself fall into it. 'Now,' she decided, 'is probably the best time to panic,' and immediately the feelings she had tried to ignore since arriving in the future swept over her.  She gasped for air, closing her eyes. Her stomach turned, the blood rushed out of her head, she began to feel dizzy and her hands suddenly became cold and numb. Just as her field of vision had begun to narrow and she was willingly allowing herself to fall into the welcome embrace of unconsciousness, Snape grasped her head with one hand and pushed it between her legs.

"Breathe deeply," he ordered.

"I know, damn it," she swore through clenched teeth, "Let go of me!" – which he did instantly as if he had burned himself. To touch and help her had been an instinctive reaction, as if the years since he had seen her last never existed.  A well-known feeling had spread through his body – only to be forced back into reality by her words - and he suddenly became aware of his hand on her head.

Hermione remained a few moments longer with her head down until she was sure she was not at risk of passing out anymore and brought her head back up.

"Here. Drink this," Snape said in a strangely absent manner as he pressed a goblet into her hands.

Without hesitation, he was a Potions Master after all, she took a large gulp… and spit it out again, coughing hard. "What on Earth is THIS?"

"Lupin's Maple Liquor," came Snape's amused answer as he took the goblet out of her hands so that none of its content spilled as Hermione coughed again. It was indeed amazing how hard times could bring out the oddest talents in men; Lupin's home brew was truly fantastic.

"Haven't you got... anything else?"

This time restraining a sarcastic remark he replied: "I am sorry, Miss Granger, but we do not have a sufficient supply of potions ingredients since Hogwarts was destroyed. This is all I can offer you at the moment to ease your worries."

Hermione nodded and gesturing with her hands, she took the goblet back from him, deciding that since she was not able to change her current situation, she might as well get drunk.

Reading her intentions, he snorted with slight amusement, but handed the goblet back anyway. Maybe her intention was not that bad an idea after all, considering what he meant to tell her. He only wished he could get drunk, too.

Studying her face while she was taking sips of the Maple-Liquor, he recalled the time when she had still been his student - a know-it-all, usually hanging around with Potter and Weasley, planning another rule-breaking adventure, but still calm and balanced. The years after graduation had changed her a lot. Voldemort had killed her parents, and from one day to the next, she had been forced to grow up. It had cost a lot of effort to entice her out of her shell again, but eventually unforeseeable events brought her back to her normal self – only to see her die a short time later. At this moment however, Snape could not see any evidence of future suffering in her even face. She was still young and innocent, although quite scared from this unexpected turn of events which had brought her here.

A wound on her forehead attracted his attention. He was so used to seeing injuries that it had not caught his eye until now. Tapping his forehead with his index finger, he interrupted Hermione's train of thoughts: "You are hurt."

Touching her head she nodded. She had not noticed she was injured, but as soon as he mentioned it, she could feel the slight tingling of blood beginning to dry and the soft pulsing of the wound. Before she could reply, he stood up to get a small box from one of the shelves, out of which he took a small jar and a piece of gauze.

With swift movements he took care of the wound. Hermione closed her eyes as his warm fingers flitted over her forehead and a feeling like thousands of butterflies fluttering in her stomach floated through her body. Who could have imagined that a cold-hearted and arrogant man like Snape was capable of such gentle touches? Hermione banished these thoughts instantly and tried to remind herself that he was one of her teachers - 'Or had been… or whatever!' she thought.

He ended the treatment of her injury quickly – too fast, in her opinion - and, after stowing the utensils away again, he sat down in the armchair opposite from her. Not until now had she noticed that Snape's movements did not seem quite as fluent and elegant as they used to be, and examining him closely, her eyes grew wide in horror as she saw the reason. The left sleeve of his robe had been tucked up. Empty.

Feeling her gaze upon him he felt obviously uncomfortable and tried to distract her attention: "We all have had our price to pay, Miss Granger." With his right arm he made a comprehensive gesture to include the forest community with its inhabitants, perhaps even the people of the whole wizarding world.

Hermione felt a strange sting in her heart at the sight of a sparkling object on his right hand. A ring. A golden ring. 'Who could believe that Snape will have found love in the future? And that he will even have been able to recognize it as such?'

But she could not continue her train of thoughts about who had been the "lucky" one any further, for Snape had begun to speak again: He spoke of the years gone by – her future and his past – and Hermione listened attentively. She wanted to understand. Understand, what had happened to the ones she had known and loved. How Hogwarts could be destroyed. What had to have happened to create such despair in the people she had met today: McGonagall, the boy… _and Snape_. Yes, even in his eyes she could recognize the silent resignation.

Snape began with her seventh year, when it had looked like they could finally defeat Voldemort - but someone among their own side impeded them. During the following years, murders of individuals or entire families could be heard of only rarely – but as usual the ministry played down the issue.

After a while the attacks began to be carried out more and more in public, with a higher level of aggression, greater violence and an increasing number of victims. The climatic battle – even the Ministry of Magic would not have spoken about 'sporadic fights' anymore, had it not already been destroyed at that time - was again carried out in front of Hogwarts… and again it had been someone from the 'good side' who had prevented its victory.

At last, after more than sixteen years, they were able to uncover the identity of the turncoat, but it had been too late. Hogwarts was already destined to doom, and waiting Death Eaters slaughtered many of those who had been able to escape out of the building at the front door. Still, some of them could escape and most of them now lived in the Forbidden Forest. Sometimes new people arrived from all over the country, and sometimes people, living here since the destruction of Hogwarts, disappeared without a trace.

Hermione noticed gaps in his story, but he merely gave evasive answers to her questions. Also as she inquired about the name of the traitor, he remained unyielding. His sole comment was to not judge and condemn a person because of his family.

Draco Malfoy had turned out to be a surprisingly trustworthy ally, against the common presumption that he would be the first of his class to join the ranks of Death Eaters. On the other hand there had been a certain redhead, from a large and loving family, who had bent to the other side like reed as soon as the wind blew stronger… But he did not tell her that. She already looked like she could not endure much more, and revealing such a betrayal by one of her best friends would have finished her off for certain. He still needed her.

With a husky voice he spoke about the end of Hogwarts: how those who had been able to flee, had to watch helplessly the walls of Hogwarts shake until the building finally collapsed like a card house. Despite the distance they could hear the screams of those who had not been able to get out of the building in time. And the sound of Voldemort's laughter echoed throughout it all. Snape began to recite the names of those gone forever: Countless students, Poppy Pomfrey, Sirius Black, Fidelius Flitwick, Albus Dumbledore, Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley...

At some point during the long list of names Hermione stood up, ran outside and vomited. It was too much for her. This was not the future she always dreamt about. She wanted to study, marry, have children… age happyily and contented. In safety. The conception of being stuck in this time and having to live here made her choke again.

After a while she returned inside, visibly paler than before, and sat down again. She buried her head in her hands and did not even look up as Snape handed her a second goblet filled with Lupin's Maple Liquor. He watched her sipping at it and waited until she had steadied herself as best she could. This was the point where he had waited for her to reach; now he could begin to rebuild her confidence.

"Hermione," he began and her head darted up at the mention of her given name. She had cried and still every now and then, a tear found its way down her cheek. "It does not necessarily have to end like this."

"What?" she breathed, willing to grab hold of even the thinnest straw in her reach, "How?"

"You have to return and alter your future," came his explanation.

"But that isn't possible! Nobody can change the past… Not a soul!"

"I did not ask you to change the past – true, nobody can do that. I am asking you to alter _your_ _future_," he repeated and could see on her face that she was considering what he had said, although she might not have really understood it.

"But when I return to my time – should this be possible – and am able to change the future, then I will not have come to _this_ future to learn about what will happen and return again, which means that…"

Snape held up his hand to stop her babbling: "Please, Miss Granger. Do not brood over it too much. It would drive you insane. Simply try to trust me that it is possible. And I know you will succeed!"

Yes, according to Professor Vector's and his calculations, it should actually be feasible. Actually, he was not completely sure, but the fact that he had already altered the future she had told him when she had returned twenty years ago, by speaking his last few sentences, kept his hope firm. Timelines developed in a torturous, twisted line, not a straight one. At any time an infinite number of _possible_ timelines coexisted, which crossed the other timelines, like the one they were currently on. If he had interpreted their studies correctly, Hermione should be able to change her future by jumping onto one of the other lines, without destroying this particular timeline.

A headache announced itself with a light pulsing behind his eyes, as he thought about the calculations. It really could deprive one of one's mind if one brooded too long over it, as if the brain would fasten into inextricable knots. Moreover, Arithmancy was not his speciality, but when Professor Vector disappeared one day, it had been up to him to finish their joint work. More than once he reached the point where he had wanted to give up and accept the future, as he knew it would come, but there had been somebody who encouraged him to carry on and not give up. A smile flickered over his face as he thought of that 'somebody'.

Snape remained silent about their calculations. Hermione would have to figure it out herself, but he knew she would work it out – she was too much Gryffindor to not regard this mystery as a challenge to be solved.

"But how am I able to return, anyway? Prof... Sir?" Hermione interrupted his thinking.

"Miss Granger," he replied with slight impatience, "we have had twenty years to rack our brains over it... and believe me when I say, we nearly did. Selena and I have worked half an eternity on the solution – a potion - but we have succeeded at last."

"Your wife?" she asked hesitantly but also curious, remembering the ring on his hand.

Snape stood up and headed to the second door in the room, where he, his hand at the door handle, paused and replied in an amused tone: "No, not my wife… my daughter. And she can't wait to meet the person whom the potion is intended for… But perhaps it is better to finally let her in – before her eyes grow into the keyhole she has been eavesdropping through," and with these words he pushed down the door handle, let go and stepped aside.

The door, which until that moment had held back the weight of Snape's daughter, flew open and stumbling in came a young woman. After few steps she regained her balance and stared at Hermione with prying eyes and Hermione returned her glance equally.

She was about the same age as Hermione, maybe one year older, and had dark brown, long hair. Her eyes were as piercing as her father's, but like the hair, they were a trace lighter. 'At least she hasn't got the same nose as Snape,' Hermione thought amused.

Snape sank into his chair again, his daughter making herself comfortable on the armrest, leaning slightly against him. Their alikeness was astonishing, and now it stood out even more as they were sitting next to each other. She had the same elegant hands, the same slender figure and had already assumed the air of authority and arrogance, although she was probably unaware of it, that  had been a part of Snape's demeanor since Hermione entered his classroom.

"I'm pleased to meet you... Miss Granger," she whispered calmly, yet her voice seemed to fill the entire room. 'Even a similar, although female voice – the Gods may protect us from a second Snape,' Hermione prayed. However… she could not help to immediately become fond of Selena. Her face was open and friendly, even though it spoke of the same despair, which seemed to have drenched this future.

"Err… same to you, Miss Snape," Hermione replied and got a soft giggle as reply, which Selena tried to hide with her hand. 

They just sat there in silence for a while, facing each other. Selena had leaned back further and stared openly at Hermione, while Snape looked out of the window, not seeming to notice Hermione's growing uncomfort because of his daughter's gaze.

Hermione cringed perceptibly. She felt like she was being exhibited on a tray and almost expected to be lifted up at any moment, being turned around in someone's hand and examined from all sides. At first, she had been able to return Selena's gaze boldly, but she could not bear looking into the other's piercing eyes for too long – just like she had never been able to look into Snape's for more than a few seconds during his lessons.

Just as Hermione wanted to break the silence and the apparent trance of the persons sitting opposite of her, someone knocked at the door and McGonagall entered, again without waiting Snape's permission to do so. Bewildered for a moment after catching sight of Selena sitting on the armrest, she glanced from Hermione to Snape and finally said: "Severus, we are ready."

As quickly as she had come, she left the room again, but this time leaving the door open.

Snape woke up from his torpidity, stood up and offered his hand to Hermione: "Ready, Miss Granger? It is time for you to return."

Surprised by his gentlemanlike behaviour, she took his hand and arose too. He held her hand an instant longer than necessary, before becoming conscious of his unusual demeanour and let go of her hand. His daughter linked arms with him as they walked out.

About two dozen people were gathered outside and Hermione let her gaze glide over the crowd. Although she believed to make out some familiarities every now and then, she seemed not to know anybody – or not to recognize them. As soon as Snape and Selena stepped out of the door, the people started to move in the direction of Hogwarts.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked Snape.

"We are moving against Voldemort," he replied without faltering.

Several things raced through Hermione's head immediately. With _these_ people? In their apparent bad condition? Could there even be the slightest chance of victory? But she remained quiet. The people around her ought to be aware of their own condition – and more – and she did not want to rub salt into their wounds. Maybe this was their last chance to strike against Voldemort.

Hermione felt immensely relieved to be able to turn her back on all this, but blushed out of at her thoughts. These people had not chosen for their future to be like this, they had not deserved it, yet they did not give up and kept fighting on and were ready to sacrifice their life for their belief in good.

And sacrificing was exactly the thing they were doing from Hermione's point of view. If she had been able, she would have had cried for all these people, for the ones already gone and for these who were doomed to follow, but not one tear left her eye. She could change it. Could do it, if she was just strong enough.

"It's really odd," Selena whispered to Hermione, while they were heading over the brown grass in the direction of the ruins, "that the air here still smells of dead fish, even though the lake dried out nearly three years ago, isn't it?" As soon as Snape's daughter had spoken these words, Hermione also noticed the smell, but she only nodded without giving an answer because of the lump in her throat.

McGonagall showed Snape the place where Hermione had appeared and he accompanied her to the spot, still with Selena linked to his arm. "Here, Miss Granger, drink this," he instructed her and pressed a small phial filled with emerald green liquid into her hand. ('Slytherin-colour,' slipped unasked into Hermione's mind, 'how appropriate.')

When Hermione hesitated, he snapped unnecessarily: "What are you waiting for, Miss Granger? A written invitation? Now drink it!" and glanced nervously around. Voldemort would come soon and he did not want her to be in the line of fire – not when she was able to prevent this future.

The potion shimmered and glistened in the sun, while she was turning the phial between her fingers. Something was missing… Something she had wanted to ask him, but she could not catch the thought…

Snape impatiently began to tap his feet, while his eyes searched their surroundings again. Not for long anymore…

"Err... Sir?" Hermione asked cautiously and Snape's head darted back, his cold eyes pinning her. "What do I have to do to prevent it all?"

His heart skipped a beat. He had forgotten it… Forgotten to tell her, what she needed to do in her time. How could he have? All the effort it had cost him could have been in vain. She would have returned to her time and had made the same mistakes again… HE would have made the same errors again and everything would be ending here once more. But would he not then have another chance to change it all? Or had it occurred just like it was happening right now, and he truly had no influence on the time at all? Again his thoughts began their dance around an invisible centre, but Selena's plucking at his arm brought him back.

"Fairly simple... Just come into class and say nothing," he answered with delay.

"What do you mean with 'nothing'?" she asked in return.

"With 'nothing' I mean 'nothing'. Take your seat, Miss Granger, and keep silent. No matter how much the future might burn on your tongue – do not tell it anybody about it. Not me, not Potter, not Dumbledore. Never," he explained.

"But…" – "No buts! Sit down and shut up! Understand?" he interrupted Hermione harshly, who only nodded subdued.

"And now, drink!"

Hermione finally followed his demand. The liquid ran down her throat smoothly like fluid honey, and as it reached her stomach, a pleasant warmth spread out from there.

First her feet and hands started to prickle, but gradually the feeling crawled up her legs and arms, in the direction of her heart. Distinct screams could be heard beyond the ruins, but suddenly the noises quieted, and although she could see Snape's mouth moving, she could not understand what he had wanted to tell her… The world around her faded gradually, her vision flickered and again everything went black.

***

Hermione was lying on the cold floor, coughing. What had happened? Blinking, she sat up and felt something in her fist. The Time-Turner.

Had this, the past, the future, really happened? Or had the Time-Turner been damaged more than she had thought and played a trick on her mind? The last impressions slowly seeped into her consciousness: Snape's moving lips and how he had raised his hand as if he had wanted to touch her… Selena's eyes filled with tears… the flashing of green light… Had it all been just a vision? More? Less?

Her heartbeat slowly normalized again. Potions lesson! Yes, she had class – with Snape!

Quickly she picked up her bag from the floor and stood up, leaning against the wall for a moment until the world around her stopped turning (she could not be drunk, could she?) and strode into the classroom. Without knocking she rushed into the room and came to a stumbling halt. Her classmates turned around startled and stared at her – the Gryffindors (especially Harry and Ron) seriously worried, the Slytherins (especially Draco) with a malicious grin. Snape too had turned away from the chalkboard he had been writing on and stared icily at her.

Quietly she tiptoed away from the door and into her place, sitting down without saying a word.

"Miss Granger? You are late," he whispered with a scathing voice, and after a short glance at his watch he continued, "… exactly three minutes! What explanation can you possibly have for such intolerable behaviour?"

"I…" Hermione began, and she felt as if she would burst out with her story of the future, but just in time she bit her tongue. _Sit down and shut up_, his words had been. What should she do? What should she say?

"I am waiting!" Snape stated again.

Deep in thought, Hermione rubbed her brow… and there she felt the piece of gauze covering her forehead. "There… there had been a small incident," she finally whispered and pressed her lips together, not willing to say one word more.

"I see!" he replied sarcastically, "An 'incident'." Mimicking her, some Slytherins laughing sardonically. "If this is your - rather poor - idea of an explanation, let it be; ten points deduction from Gryffindor for coming too late, another five points for not knocking before entering, five more points for letting the door open and last but not least five points deduction for wasting my precious time while I had to wait for your answer."

Hermione shook her head unconsciously. No, Snape would not change, ever… although she did not know what the future would bring. Not anymore. And suddenly the burden of being responsible for the future she had seen and which had been weighing her down, disappeared. Hermione let out a relieved breath.

"And detention, tonight at nine o'clock.," were his last words, before he turned to the chalkboard again and continued writing down the potion's recipe he had started before her appearance.

Hermione let a quick smile cross her face and thanked him silently.

***

_"She's pretty."  
"Yes, she is."  
"Do you still love her? After all these years?"  
"...Yes. I still do."  
"And why haven't you told her that?"  
"She was not ready for it – and neither was I."  
...  
"Do you believe she can do it?"  
"I hope so, dear. I hope so."  
"Dad?"  
"What?"  
"Will I... will I also exist in her future?"  
"No doubt. I know me... and I know her."_

_***_

+++ The End +++

Read it? Liked it? Reviews welcome… as always :-))   Thanks!

Last but not least: Sorry to disappoint any of you, but this fic is designated as a one-chapter story and I am not intending to continue it at the moment… I wouldn't know how, anyway.


End file.
